


just a little touch of fate

by thequeenofokay



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenofokay/pseuds/thequeenofokay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's brought in in the middle of the night and rushed straight into surgery.</p>
<p>// raina has a new patient in the intensive care ward. she's pretty sure he's a spy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a little touch of fate

**Author's Note:**

> \+ for the prompt "rainward + raina at the icu" and idk it could have been super angsty but. it's not.
> 
> \+ also wOW i know nothing about hospitals or medicine or whatever this is so inaccurate??
> 
> \+ title from "neopolitan dreams" by lisa mitchell.

He's brought in in the middle of the night, rushed straight into surgery.

She sees them pass while she’s on her break with Trip.

He winces, watching them head for the operating theatre. ‘What would you guess?’ he asks.

‘Hmm,’ she says. ‘Looked like bullet wounds?’

‘I’d say he’d lost a lot of blood,’ Trip says. ‘Been in a nasty fight.’

She wrinkles her nose. ‘He’ll be in ICU with me,’ she says.

‘If he makes it through. He looked in a bad state,’ he says.

She shrugs. She’s seen plenty of patients die -- it’s never nice, but it’s how it goes in her line of work. Not everybody can be saved.

After Trip’s headed back to paediatrics, she asks around, but no one knows what happened to the new patient. And anyone who does isn’t telling her

He's comatose when they bring him out and into intensive care, but he’s alive.

She studies the paper they leave by his bed. There’s still no explanation of what happened to him, but it tells her he's stable. And that his name is Grant Ward.

He’s cleaned up and bandaged, with drips and wires trailing out of him, a ventilator helping him breathe, and she thinks that, even in his sleep, he looks worried.

It’s a little cute. Or it would be, if his situation wasn’t so horrible.

She straightens his sheets, and moves on to the next bed.

He’s still there, his heart monitor beeping steadily, on her next shift. She’s glad.

She's across the other side of the room when his doctor comes in, trailed by a man and a woman in dark suits.

She moves a little closer, because honestly, she's always been the curious type.

'Agent Hill,' the doctor says, 'don't get me wrong. I understand the seriousness of the situation  _perfectly_. No details will get out, but I've done all I can for Agent Ward.'

'And are there possible side effects?' Agent Hill asks.

' _If_  he wakes up,' the doctor says, 'it's possible that there will be longlasting physical or mental effects.'

'Memory loss?'

'Possibly,’ the doctor says. ‘I can’t rule it out.’

Agent Hill gives a grave nod, and the man with her frowns.

‘Keep us updated,’ Hill says. ‘On any developments. We need the information he has as soon as he’s awake.’

The doctor looks like he might protest -- Raina knows that what they’re asking is going to put strain on Grant -- but he just nods.

  
  


He's been in for a week and she’s doing the routine checks when his hand moves.

She stares for a second. This isn’t the first time a coma patient has woken up around her, but this feels… different.

She calls the doctors through and they crowd round his bed, taking readings and monitoring him and checking the drugs they’re pumping him with as he slowly comes to.

He blinks as they continue around his. He doesn’t seem to notice the wires

‘Shit,’ he says, in a voice that scrapes with disuse. He’s staring up at her like he’s just seen the stars for the first time. ‘You’re beautiful.’ His hands finds hers and holds on, and she looks up at the doctor but he’s too busy running tests to intervene.

‘Are you an angel?’ he asks, and she  _blushes_.

‘No,’ she says. ‘I’m not an angel.’

He frowns. ‘I’m pretty sure you are,’ he says, a little slurred, and she doesn’t bother to contradict him. It feels like a losing battle.

He's still gripping her hand when the doctors leave again. She could try to wriggle out of it, but his hand is tight around hers, and she's not sure he'd let her.

'Don't go?' he says. The look on his face is so pleading, it seems wrong to leave.

She should go.

She should get back to work, but this is part of her job, right? She's looking after a patient.

When he closes his eyes, and his breathing returns to normal, she slips her hand away and moves on.

She feels a little cold when she’s let go.

It’s probably nothing.

 

She’s on a night shift, the only nurse in the darkened ward. Most of her patients are sleeping, but Grant is propped up, staring at the opposite wall.

‘Sorry,’ he says. Quietly, but it’s the only sound in the room aside from the quiet humming and beeping of the machines keeping the rest of the ward alive.

She turns to him. ‘For what?’

He smiles. It’s sweet, but there’s something else in it. Something tired and world weary and something that she recognises.

‘I was out of it on painkillers,’ he says.

She nods, moving to the end of his bed. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘You were.’

‘I might have said some things that were a little… embarrassing?’ he says. He’s almost smiling, but it’s nervous, like he thinks she’s going to have taken offense.

‘Honestly,’ she says, waving a hand dismissively, ‘I’ve had people say far worse things to me when they were on painkillers.’

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward a little in the bed. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ she confirms. ‘I’ve been a long lost daughter. And death.’

‘The last one is a little unfair,’ he says.

She frowns. ‘I thought so too,’ she says.

‘Though I think I called you an angel.’ He ducks his head, looking away from her.

She laughs, little more than a quiet breath so as not to wake the sleeping patients. ‘You did,’ she says. She’s not complaining, but she’s also not the type to tell him that. ‘So you remember?’ she asks. ‘You’re not experiencing memory loss.’

He shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I remember… everything.’ His voice falls a little, and his shoulders draw in.

‘You remember when you were shot?’

He looks up at her. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to know that,’ he says. Quietly.

She shrugs. ‘I know you’re a  _spy_ ,’ she says.

He doesn’t react in surprise or shock, just gives her a non committal nod of his head. ‘That’s classified,’ he says, and she’s not sure if he’s joking.

Probably not.

He’s a model patient for the first week. He reads, mostly, chats to her when she brings him meals, and doesn’t make a fuss.

The agents in suits turn up again once the doctor has confirmed he’s got no memory loss, and they have him taken away into a back room of the hospital for most of her shift.

He comes back looking more tired than before, and only tells her thanks when she brings his dinner.

As the days drag on, he gets more restless, until by the time he’s moved to a lower priority ward, she’s close to having to hold him down in his bed to stop him from getting up and leaving.

Her shift is a little boring with him gone. She almost… misses him?

(Screw the “almost” -- she misses him.)

  
  


She runs into him at the reception a few weeks later. The first thing that hits her is how much better he looks. He’s in normal clothes, there’s more colour in his face, and he’s standing by himself.

‘You’re leaving?’ she asks, and he nods.

‘Finally,’ he says. ‘But they’re still not letting me work for another few months.’

She winces, patting his shoulder comfortingly. ‘That must be killing you,’ she says.

‘It is,’ he says, grimacing. ‘I honestly don’t know what to do with myself.’

She stands up on tiptoe (and even then she’s nowhere near his ear, but it’ll do), and whispers, ‘I think you’re  _supposed_  to relax, Agent Ward. I’d suggest investing in a Netflix account.’

He laughs.

‘Maybe I could see you sometime, out of the scrubs?’ he asks.

She tilts her head, corner of her lip tugging up. ‘Out of my scrubs?’ she repeats.

He sighs, rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and maybe blushes a little. It’s sweet. ‘You know what I mean,’ he says. ‘Coffee.’

She hums, making a noise like she’s considering. To say yes is probably unprofessional, but there was never a chance that she would say no. She feels like there’s some sort of understanding between them. They both know death. She’s watched people die in her ward, and she knows he’s seen it in his line of work, maybe even killed.

She smiles. ‘Sure,’ she says.

(‘I like the dress,’ he tells her, when they meet at a little coffee shop on her morning off. ‘The flowers are cute.’

She shrugs. ‘Who doesn’t like flowers?’)


End file.
